


Here We Lie, Outstretched

by redeyedwrath



Series: Sterek Tumblr Ficlets [28]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Angst, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Jock Stiles, M/M, Making Out, Nerd Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 16:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11627898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedwrath/pseuds/redeyedwrath
Summary: “I couldn’t sleep,” Stiles says, and he shrugs, twiddling with his thumbs. The moonlight catches in the hollows of his cheekbones.Derek snorts. “So you thought that if you couldn’t sleep, neither should I?”Or, in which Derek and Stiles are neighbors and they're Make Out Buddies





	Here We Lie, Outstretched

**Author's Note:**

> So I am totally the kind of person who makes himself cry when he writes fics because he projects too much... I just really really want a boyfriend guys
> 
> This is also totally in honor of my URL change from demisexualhale to nerdderek :p

_Oh, here where we lie_  
_Outstretched to wonder why we don't belong_  
_You deserve much more_  
_And I'll give until I'm all gone_

**\- Let Love Bleed Red, Sleeping With Sirens**

 

It’s two in the morning when Derek is woken up by a sharp tapping on his window. He struggles with his blanket for a second and grabs his phone from the nightstand, groaning when he sees the time. He’d been reading until midnight, only stopping because he knew he had to get a healthy amount of sleep before going to school again.

So much for that.

He slips out of bed and runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t turn the lights on, which turns out to be a mistake, and he hisses through his teeth when he hits his shin against the nightstand. He pulls the curtains back and pushes the window open.

Stiles scrambles away just in time to avoid getting hit in the face.

“What do you want,” Derek growls, cranky with the lack of sleep. Stiles’ face is oddly pale against the night sky, and Derek watches it break out in a grin through slitted eyes.

“You,” Stiles whispers, leaning back against the ledge of the roof, face tilted towards the moon. Derek refuses to let Stiles get to him, but he crawls through the window anyway, letting the window slam shut behind him. He leans back against the cold glass, rubbing his hands together to warm them up. It’s almost summer, but the slight breeze slices through his pajama pants.

“Why are you still awake?” he asks after a while. Stiles is wearing his varsity jacket over his pajamas, his hair messed up enough to let Derek know that Stiles had tried sleeping, but it hadn’t worked. His legs are bent and Derek extends his own until their feet rest next to each other — Stiles’ pink socks ridiculous against Derek’s bare feet.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Stiles says, and he shrugs, twiddling with his thumbs. The moonlight catches in the hollows of his cheekbones.

Derek snorts. “So you thought that if you couldn’t sleep, neither should I?”

The comment pulls a laugh out of Stiles, just like Derek had hoped it would have. It’s a gentle laugh, contrasting with the bags under his eyes and the dirt under his fingernails. He tilts his head back again. His skin is pale and it crinkles when he grins. “The stars aren’t out.”

Derek shrugs, continues to look at Stiles. It’s not often that they hang out like this. They avoid each other at school. Derek knows why — he’s fine with it, too. “Shame.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, quiet, soft, like Derek wasn’t meant to hear it, and he turns his head back to look at Derek, his eyes glinting and warm. It makes Derek’s skin crawl, makes something inside him heat up.

“So.” Derek clears his throat, crosses his arms over his chest, his palms clammy against his shirt. “Why’d you wake me up?”

Stiles shrugs. “Just wanted to talk to you, I guess.”

Derek doesn’t know what to do with that, his mind racing with possibilities of what this could mean, and why Stiles is doing this. Stiles stays silent, infuriatingly so, and Derek clenches his hands in the fabric of his shirt, unclenches them, repeat. After a while, he looks away, sighs bitterly.

“I’ll be going then,” he says, turning back towards his window, knees scraping against the tiles.

“No!” Stiles whispers, hand shooting out to touch Derek’s shoulder, gliding down to the small of his back. “Stay.”

He pulls Derek back down, until they’re both looking up at the moon. Derek feels electrified, too conscious of the points of contact between him and Stiles. Beside him, Stiles is warm, and Derek can’t help but soak him in. He’s never going to get over how Stiles, the same Stiles who walks around with an arrogant grin, who wears his varsity jacket like a prize, how that Stiles wants to talk to someone like Derek.

“You okay?” Derek asks, quiet, when Stiles lays his head against Derek’s shoulder, his nose cold against Derek’s collarbone. Stiles’ hair tickles the edges of his jaw, but Derek doesn’t mind. It swipes back and forth when Stiles nods, the day-old stubble on his cheek scraping softly over the soft skin of Derek’s shoulder.

Derek tells himself he doesn’t shiver, and sinks back into Stiles’ warm weight. They haven’t sat together like this for so long and Derek, for whatever misguided reason, has missed this, missed sitting next to Stiles like this, missed being so comfortable with him.

Heart thudding in his chest, Derek nods almost unnoticeably, and tells himself this is fine as long as he doesn’t read too much into it. They lean in at the same time, and when Stiles’ lips brush softly against his, it feels like the last time they did this. Like kissing the sun, hot and fierce, Stiles’ lips pressing more firmly against his, licking into his mouth, searching, scorching.

Derek hears himself groan, something unfamiliar and low, because Stiles pulls back to kiss down his neck and bite at the skin around his collarbone. Derek whimpers, tries to stop his hips from bucking upwards, already hard.

“Sorry,” Stiles breathes against skin, the warm, clammy gust of it making Derek shiver. His thumbs run circles over the skin stretched over Derek’s hip bones, lips brushing over the skin as he repeats, “ _Sorry_. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Something twinges in Derek’s gut at the words, and he has to work to remind himself that this doesn’t mean anything. They’re neighbors and ex-friends, who only talk in the dead of the night and skirt around each other in the light of day, and he refuses to let Stiles’ soft words mess him up two in the goddamn morning.

“It’s fine,” Derek says, and he curses himself for sounding so hoarse. Stiles’ fingers tighten around his hips, and for a second Derek thinks he’ll stay, but then he’s scrambling back, eyes wide. Derek hangs his head, refuses to look at Stiles. “I’ll be going to bed now.”

Stiles nods resolutely, his eyes glinting with something that Derek can’t decipher. Derek wrenches himself away from the sight of Stiles washed pale and beautiful and climbs back through his window.

When he slams it shut, Stiles is nowhere to be seen.

—

“Derek,” Erica whispers, prodding him in the side with her elbow. Derek glares at her for a second, but goes back to reading. “ _Derek_.”

There’s no sense in ignoring Erica when she’s like this. He sighs, rubbing his eyes. “What is it. I’m trying to read.”

Erica rolls her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line. He mirrors her expression, scrunching his nose up until she grinning. “He’s  _watching again_.”

He glances up in reflex, catching Stiles’ eyes. Stiles waves at him, big smile on his face, and goes back to talking with Scott. Derek pretends his heart isn’t pounding its way out of his chest and glares at Erica again.

The thing is — Derek is aware of how he looks. He knows that if he’d just stop wearing glasses and if he joined a sports team, he’d easily be the most popular kid in school. It’s just that he  _isn’t_  right now, and he also doesn’t want to be. He’s perfectly content with filling the chair next to Erica, because — as opposed to people like Jackson — Erica is his  _friend_.

“So what’s the deal with you two?” Erica asks, poking him in the arm. Derek shifts out of her reach until his chair bumps against the table. 

“There is no deal. We’re just neighbors,” he murmurs, burying his head in his book again. Never mind that he’s already it twice, he’s reading it again. Anything is better than focusing on Stiles, watching him again.

Erica is uncharacteristically silent for a while, but Derek really isn’t inclined to comment on it, lest it brings her out of her daze. He’s just turning another page when Erica pokes him in the arm again. His head shoots up to glare at her, but instead he just locks eyes with Stiles. He swallows thickly.

“Neighbors who look at each other like you want to eat each other whole,” Erica deadpans, raising an eyebrow, nonplussed.

Derek slams his head against the table. “Can we not do this, please.”

His saving grace comes in the form of Boyd, who puts his tray down next to Derek’s head and drapes an arm around Erica’s shoulders, kissing her cheek. Erica turns bright red and Boyd shoots him a wink. “Stop pestering him, Erica.”

Erica sighs, but leans into Boyd anyway. Derek looks at his book again, putting his hands under his thighs in case he does something stupid. It hurts, seeing his friends together so freely, while he and Stiles… while  _he_  has to sneak around.

“So Derek, about that History Quiz—”

—

Derek can’t stop staring at the trophy on his desk. It’s a dull gold — probably not even gold — and he feels ridiculous, but he can’t stop  _staring_  at it.

Shit.

He has a crush on Stiles.

His stomach flips, and his heart does this weird thing in his chest and he swears out loud. Repeatedly, loudly. He dips his hand between his knees and shuts his eyes, his arms tightening around himself.

Shit, no. No.

It’s cold, and there’s a brick in his stomach. He can’t think straight, not past Stiles’ voice and his lips and his collarbones and that fucking smile that makes the skin around his eyes crinkle.

He’s so fucking fucked.

Just then, Stiles’ room floods with light and he can make Stiles’ silhouette out through the curtain as he stumbles in. Derek shuffles backwards reflexively, even though he can’t physically distance himself from Stiles any more without leaving his room. He licks his lips and clears his throat, trying to calm his racing heart.

Then he calls Erica.

—

“I  _knew_  something was going on with you and Stiles!” Erica crows when he walks into the diner. She’s smirking as she looks at him. Derek wants to sink into the ground. He doesn’t want to do this. He would’ve called someone else,  _anyone_  else, but there isn’t anyone. It’s just him, Boyd, and Erica against the world.

“Can we not?” he mumbles as he slides into the booth, grabbing his glasses to wipe at the smudge on them. He can’t stop rubbing at his eyes — he doesn’t think he slept at all. It suddenly feels like it: every movement is an ordeal, and each blink makes him fall asleep more.

“So…” Boyd says, taking a sip of his coke before setting it back down. Derek watches the condensation trail down the glass. He doesn’t want to look at Boyd and Erica. “What’s wrong?”

Swallowing, he tries to gather his courage. He breathes in, out, then in again, until his heart has calmed down. His stomach is flipping, and the words are on the tip of his tongue but he can’t bring himself to say it. Saying it makes it… real. More real than it already is.

Erica kicks him in the shin.

“Stiles and I, we’ve… We’ve been…” His hands are sticking to the shitty plastic couch of the booth, his mouth dry. Boyd pushes the coke over to him and he takes a grateful sip, wiping his palms on his jeans afterwards. Fuck, why is this so hard.

“Secretly making out?” Erica says after a while. Derek almost jumps out of his seat. He didn’t think anyone knew — had they really been that obvious? “We know.”

“Who knows?”

“Just us. Derek,” Boyd says softly, patting his hand. “We love you, but you’re not subtle.”

Oh. If… If it’s  _just_  Erica and Boyd, that’s not that bad. Derek thinks, at least. Boyd, you can trust, but he’s not so sure about Erica. But he feels like if he doesn’t tell anyone he’ll  _explode_. No man was made to carry so many feelings, he’s sure.

“Well, it’s just…” he starts, then stops. He has to remind himself it’ll be fine, that Erica and Boyd are his friends, that they won’t tell anyone and they certainly won’t judge him. It’ll be  _fine_. “I have a crush on Stiles, and all he wants to do is fool around.”

There, he said it. It feels like he just dropped a bomb — everything around them is quiet. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t want to look up, because he knows their eyes will be filled with pity and he doesn’t want that. He just wants… he wants  _Stiles_. In any way he can have him.

Erica is the first one to break the silence, her foot finding his under the table. “Aw, sweetie.”

When he looks up, her eyes are soft and understanding. Derek gets it, he knows what it took for her and Boyd to get together and he  _knows_  that it wasn’t easy. He  _knows_. But there’s no way it could’ve hurt this much, could’ve made them sweat, could’ve made them this jittery. It’s not healthy.

Boyd stares at him, not judging him but just taking him in. Then, he says, “Break it off with him, Derek.”

“Yeah,” Erica says, nodding resolutely, her hand clamped in Boyd’s. Derek loves them, he  _does_ , but he wants that. He wants hand holding and relationships and casual displays of affection. “If he’s hurting you, you should break it off.”

“Yeah. Okay, I guess,” Derek says, and he means it.

That doesn’t mean he  _wants_  it.

—

His fingers tremble as he gets his phone out of pocket, and he lays it in front of him. His legs are crossed beneath him, jeans blue against his white bedspread. The phone just lays there, innocently, like Derek isn’t mentally tearing everything apart to find the resolve he needs to break it off with Stiles. He picks it up.

 **Derek:**  Tonight?

 _Stiles is typing…_  immediately appears when he’s sent the message, and it inadvertently brings a smile to his face, knowing that Stiles immediately dropped everything to reply to Derek’s message. He pushes his glasses up his nose and waits.

 **Stiles:**  out w/ the team. home @ midnite

That’s fine. That’s good. That means he has more time to prepare himself, anyway, think about what he wants to say.

 **Derek:**  See you at midnight, then.

—

When the tap on his window comes around midnight, Derek’s  _ready_. He’s thought about it, knows how everything’s going to happen, has played it in his head a thousand times over. He’s really, really ready.

Then he sees Stiles.

“Derek!” Stiles says when Derek steps through the window. His eyes are lit up with more than just the moonlight, and his smile turns sappy when Derek looks at him. Derek sends him a small smile back, burying his fingers in the sleeves of his sweater. It’s cold out tonight, but Stiles doesn’t seem bothered by it.

They sit at the edge of the roof, Stiles’ legs bungling over it while Derek curls his toes around it, hunched in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest. Stiles’ arm is warm when he drapes it around Derek’s shoulders, and Derek jumps when Stiles’ nose touches his cheekbone.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles says again, nose rubbing against the skin. He smells like alcohol and warmth. “You’re pretty.”

“Are you drunk?” Derek asks, voice smaller than it was supposed to be. Stiles’ fingers find the corner of his jaw, his thumb rubbing small circles into the same. Derek gives in to Stiles’ hold, sinking into his side.

“A bit, yeah,” Stiles hums, opening Derek’s fist and pulling it off his sweater, pressing his lips to the inside of Derek’s wrist. Derek sucks in a breath.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Derek says, heart pounding in his throat. He feels sick.

When Stiles leans in to kiss him, Derek lets him, melting into his chest. He wraps his arms around Stiles’ neck, brushing over the hairs by the nape of his neck and pulling him closer. Stiles is kissing him with purpose, open-mouthed and wet and hot. He feels like alcohol, thick and heavy in Derek’s stomach, and Derek draws in a breath. His hands drop to Stiles’ chest, grabbing at Stiles’ shirt.

He groans when Stiles’ arms wrap around his waist, pulling him close enough for their hips to brush, and then Stiles’ fingers are under his shirt, scratching softly at his back, and then —

Then, Derek pulls back.

“Stop,” he pants, his fingers digging into Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles just sucks a hickey into Derek’s neck, and Derek repeats it again. “Stop. I’m serious, Stiles. Stop.”

Stiles pulls back then, his forehead resting on Derek’s shoulder, Derek still clutching at his shoulders. Derek drags in a shuddery breath, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes because he doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t. But he  _has_  to.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asks him, voice filled with genuine concern. Derek can’t stand it.

“I don’t —” Derek says, inhaling, exhaling, again, until he’s found the courage to continue. “We should stop this. Permanently.”

“Why?” Stiles asks, rubbing tiny circles into Derek’s shoulder blades. Derek never wants him to stop. “It’s just a bit of fun. Nothing serious.”

“I know,” Derek says, frantically nodding his head and trying his hardest not to cry.  _Please don’t make me say it_ , he thinks. “I know, and that’s why we have to stop.”

“Oh,” Stiles says then, voice hollow as he pulls his arms back from around Derek. Derek swallows and rolls onto his back, the roof tiles digging into his back. He throws an arm over his face so he won’t have to look at Stiles.

“I’ll just leave then,” Stiles says, and Derek nods, listens to Stiles’ footsteps as he climbs back into his own room.

Tomorrow, Derek will be himself again.   
  
Tomorrow, Stiles will be gone.

—

It’s been a week.

A week since Derek pushed Stiles away, and a week since Stiles as much as  _looked_  at him. Derek feels like he both won and lost, and he has no idea what to do. He doesn’t  _want_  to do anything, and Erica and Boyd are starting to look more concerned, moreso after they couldn’t drag him out to go to a museum.

Derek just wants to sleep, and maybe disappear off the face of the earth. He fucked it up, he fucked  _Stiles_ up, and it hurts. It hurts and he wants it to stop, he wants to sleep without glancing out his window to see if Stiles will be there, watching him with a smile, waiting for him.

It’s the day after the Museum Debacle that it all comes to a head.

Derek’s just getting his books from his locker, Erica and Boyd waiting for him at the end of the hall, when he turns around and sees Stiles walking towards him, an intense look on his face. Derek swallows, his heart pounding, torn between running away and staying where he is because it’s  _Stiles_.

And he looks… he looks so good, red varsity jacket hugging his shoulders, eyes bright and lovely. Derek’s missed him more than he realized. Everyone is looking at them.

“Derek,” Stiles says, leaning against the locker next to Derek’s. Derek doesn’t know what to do, pinned between Stiles’ body and the metal of the doors. “I really want to kiss you.” 

The words send a chill down Derek’s spine.

“I want to do more, too,” Stiles rushes, looking nervous. “I want to fuck you.” Derek blushes and looks away, hoping no one hears them. “And I want to wake up next to you. And buy you nerdy shirts. And kiss the birthmark you have by your hipbone and also the rest of you.”

They’re quiet then. It feels like the whole world stopped breathing. Stiles has one arm braced over Derek’s head, and they’re close, so close. Derek hopes Stiles is saying what he thinks he’s saying. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

“So?” he asks, standing up on his tiptoes, trying to create as much room between him and Stiles as possible.

“So, uh. I might like you.”

Derek lets out a breath. “Okay, well. I like you too, maybe.”

Stiles’ smile grows gradually, until it’s almost too bright to look at, straight white teeth and crinkles around his eyes and Derek’s breath catches in his chest. This can’t be  _real_.

“What are you waiting for?” Derek asks with a bravado he doesn’t feel. Stiles raises an eyebrow in question. “You wanted to kiss me, right?”

Stiles smiles, stepping into Derek’s space and tipping his chin up. Derek sighs and melts into it, Erica and Boyd cheering in the background.

**Author's Note:**

> It’s another thing!!!!! I am pumping these out again lol... It’s also longer than usual so I hope y’all enjoyed it!! Please let me know ^^
> 
> Thank you to [brionylarkin](http://brionylarkin.tumblr.com) and [gfdisterek](http://gfdisterek.tumblr.com) for beta’ing it and to [ladydrace](http://ladydrace.tumblr.com) and [vanillawg](http://vanillawg.tumblr.com) for word warring with me and getting me to finish it :p
> 
>  
> 
> [Sooo I have a Tumblr where I post sneak peeks, despair of Tyler Hoechlin's/Colin Morgan's/Ben Whishaw's attractiveness and also cry about Sterek and Merthur](http://nerdderek.tumblr.com)


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